


So Get Your Eyes Off Of My Pride

by second_hand_heaven



Category: DCU
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bruce Wayne is a brat, Clark Kent is a mess, Clothed Sex, Clubbing, Cunnilingus, DC Trinity, Dancing, Diana is a BAMF, Established Relationship, F/M, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Multi, Name-Calling, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Sort Of, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, for a bit, poly trinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: The trinity go clubbing to keep up Bruce's playboy image, and Bruce gets loose. Those dance moves do not belong on the dance floor.In which Bruce is a brat, and the trinity finally sleep together.





	So Get Your Eyes Off Of My Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "On Top" by The Killers.
> 
> TantalumCobalt requested this specifically, so it’s their fault. Pornographic dancing and sparkles, here you go! 
> 
> (pair with ‘I bet you look good on the dancefloor’ -Arctic Monkeys, ‘On Top’ -The Killers)  
> (Also, Diana’s leather pants? Fake leather. Nobody panic.)

Look, Clark gets it. The whole ‘secret identity’ thing is arduous at best; doubly for Bruce, who’s always under the public’s watchful eye. 

 

And yeah, Clark works with reporters, but none of them are ever  _ looking _ at him.

 

But he gets it. So when Bruce had approached he and Diana about this event he'd orchestrated to ramp-up his playboy image, they’d agreed to help. 

 

This thing between them, it's new. Or rather, it's something they'd been feeling for a while. It just took Bruce an eternity and a doomsday plot to admit it. 

 

It’s tentative, and a little fragile, but  _ God _ is it good. Clark’s still waiting for the rug to be pulled out from beneath his feet. At first, he thought he'd wake up, find out this was some psychic’s revenge, or some wacky fever dream. 

 

But now, it feels more real than he ever hoped it would be. Diana and Bruce are constants in his life, have been for quite some time. Now he actually gets to kiss them, and that's a pretty great addition. 

 

Clubs aren’t really his scene. Everything’s so vibrant, so loud, so... much. It makes his skin crawl, just the thought of it. But Bruce had asked for his help, for Diana’s help, and he’s not the type to actually  _ ask  _ for anything, so Clark pushes the feelings aside. He needs to prove to Bruce that he can have his back, not just as Superman, but as Clark Kent, too.

 

On arrival, Clark heads for the bar. Bruce and Diana should be out on the dance floor by now, just like they’d planned. They were meant to pretend that they'd just met, flirt a while, be seen by the swarms of paparazzi, and leave together. It sounded simple enough at the time.

 

Bottle of water in hand, he heads toward his partners and- 

He stops dead in his tracks. 

 

Bruce is… dancing? He supposes you'd call it dancing? It's not something you'd get away with at prom, that's for sure. 

 

God, it's filthy.  _ He's _ filthy. The moves are all hips and thighs and ass and- Wow. That looks nice. 

 

His mouth runs dry.

 

That looks  _ very _ nice.

Another time, he'd berate himself for his mediocre description, but he's barely got two functional brain cells that aren't distracted by Bruce's body. His jeans tighten at the sight. 

 

He finds Diana a few people away, chatting with a woman who towers over the crowd. It's friendly, not  _ too _ friendly: there's no pang of jealousy in his gut. 

She's watching the show, though, from the corner of her eye. She's not the only one. Bruce has drawn the room’s attention. 

 

There are whispers behind hands, “check him out”, “is that Bruce Wayne?”, and the flash of iPhone cameras. 

 

He catches her eye, and Diana’s smirking. On the surface she seems cool enough, but Clark can hear the spike in her heart rate every time Bruce…Yeah, every time he does  _ that. _

At least he’s not the only one affected by this. 

 

But it's not necessarily a good thing. 

 

A man approaches through the crowd and the swagger of his step sets Clark's teeth on edge. It's got cockiness written all over it, a lecherous scent wafting through the packed room. 

 

He invades Bruce's space, crowding his body 

The way he's grinding his hips against Bruce's, all brutish and self-serving, it makes Clark want to square up and deck him right there.

 

He’s watching, listening intently against the deafening 

But Bruce can hold his own, Clark reminds himself. He doesn't need Superman or Wonder Woman swooping in to save the day. And Clark  _ knows _ that, but the way the guy’s hand keeps slipping down Bruce's stomach makes him-

 

He’s across the crowded room in barely a second, but Diana beats him to the punch. 

She's got a hand on the perv’s wrist, tight enough that Clark can hear his yelp over the thunderous bass. Clark shoves the water bottle hard into the guy’s gut. “Maybe you need to cool off?”

 

With a hissed dismissal, something sounding uncannily like “ours”, the guy’s sent on his way. 

 

Bruce gives them a mildly irritated look.“So you won't dance with me, but I can't dance with anyone else?”

They're circling him now, like sharks tasting fresh blood in the waves. 

“Dancing?” Diana scoffs, “You call that dancing?”

He quirks an eyebrow at her. “What would you call it?”

Clark's right behind him, lips dangerously close to Bruce's ear. “I'd call it pornographic.”

He relishes the sound of Bruce’s breath catching. 

Diana's smirking, leaning in against Bruce's front. “Maybe we could dance with you now, hmm?”

With a roll of his hips, he draws a moan from both Clark and Diana. “Sounds like fun.”

The bass drops and the mob roars, moving with rejuvenated force. Glitter pours from the rafters, coating everyone and everything beneath. 

 

The three of them are grinding on each other, the beat guiding their every movement. 

Clark's hands, one on Bruce's hip, the other gripping Diana's leather-clad thigh, tighten involuntarily.

 

And that  _ ass _ , that glorious ass, keeps rubbing against him and it is  _ electrifying. _

If Bruce doesn't stop… 

 

Clark grabs roughly at Bruce's arm. “Let's get out of here.” Diana nods in agreement, glitter on her lashes. 

Even in the darkness of the club, Clark can tell Bruce’s pupils are blown wide. 

“Yeah. My place?” Bruce asks, as if he hasn't planned this out already. 

They head for the exits, hands still all over each other. Cameras flash in their wake, and Clark grins at the image this must make. 

. . .

 

They're standing on the curb, bracing against Gotham's evening chill, while they wait for their ride. 

Bruce has got a hand on both their backs, slipping precariously lower… And there's the money shot. Clark can hear the camera shutters in rapid succession. 

Bruce's grinning, and so is he. The Amazon huffs at them, but Clark can see the way she's thrusting back, just a fraction, against Bruce's hand. 

 

A blacked-out limo pulls up at the curb. With a quick, X-ray vision glance, Clark registers that the driver isn't Alfred. He quirks an eyebrow at Bruce, who merely shrugs. “Decided he could do with a night off.” 

 

Once inside, Clark and Diana converge on Bruce. 

They attack Bruce's neck feverently. He's the only one of the three of them that will actually mark. Diana bruises, of course, but the bite marks fade almost immediately. 

They could make Bruce's last for days. 

 

“Gonna mark you up, B,” he says between bites, “make sure everybody knows you’re ours.”

“Possessive much?” Bruce pants, and there’s glitter falling from his hair with every breath he takes. 

“Mmm, very,” Diana says as she settles herself across Bruce’s thighs.

 

Bruce's hand trails down from Diana's neck, across her collarbone, her sternum, before grasping her left breast. She moans against Bruce's throat. Clark crowds behind her, forcing her further into Bruce's lap. His mouth is at her jawline, and he's half afraid his lips will come back bloodied from the sharpness of it. 

 

His hands glide down her back to cup her ass, tight within the leather confines. He's feeling, learning the shape of her with his hands. 

There are no seams from underwear pressing lines into the material. She's gone commando tonight, and he practically drools at the thought. 

  
  


They arrive back at the Manor much too soon, and Bruce can barely keep his hands to himself long enough to get to the bedroom. 

Diana tosses Bruce onto the bed, tells him to wait. Bruce is about to snark back at her, but she starts stripping. Clark moves behind her to ‘help’. She peels herself out of her leather pants, so tight they looked like she was sewn into them. He inhales sharply. No panties beneath, just like he suspected. He breathes heavily against her neck as he helps her out of her shirt. 

 

Bruce sits up on the edge of the bed, trying and failing not to look so eager. “So, are you going to get on with this or-” Clark cuts him off, shoving him down onto the bed. 

 

He and Diana share a look. Tonight's plan: take Bruce Wayne down a peg or two. 

“I'm waiting…” Bruce deadpan, and Clark lunges for him. 

“God, you're such a brat,” he says, ripping the shirt open, buttons be damned. 

Bruce's eyes positively gleam at Clark's words. Good. He can work with that.

 

Clark's straddling his hips in an attempt to draw out Bruce's submission. 

But Bruce isn't the type to give up so easily. “It's so easy to get you riled up.” There’s a bottle of lube lying next to Bruce, and Clark knows better than to think it a coincidence.

 

Things start to fall into place. 

 

“You planned this all along,” Clark surmises. He doesn't have to be the world's greatest detective to figure that one out. 

“‘course I did. How else was I going to get you two into bed.”

Diana rolls her eyes. “You know, you could have just said something.”

He starts to laugh, but it's cut off by a roll of Clark's hips. “Where’s the fun in that?”

 

Clark slides up Bruce's broad chest, until he's straddling Bruce's shoulders. “The fun is, we could have been doing this all night.” He slips of his shirt and rocks his hips forward. The bulge in his jeans is daringly close to Bruce's lips. It's making Bruce consider his argument, at least. 

 

The billionaire reaches up for the front of Clark's pants, but Clark pins his hands against the pillows above his head. 

“Patience,” he chastises, “you made us wait through your  _ dancing,  _ I'm sure you can wait a little longer.”

 

Further down the bed, Diana makes quick work of Bruce's pants and slides them down around his ankles. 

Kicking his legs, Bruce manages to free himself from the constrictive fabric. 

 

She licks a stripe along the underside of Bruce’s cock and he can barely suppress a moan. One hand slips lower, gentle caressing the skin from Bruce's cock, past his balls, before circling his hole. 

His legs spill open even further. “Such a needy little thing,” Diana murmurs against the v of Bruce’s hips. Staring up at Clark, he's too distracted to dispute her.

Clark tosses back the bottle of lube to her, and she slicks up four fingers before taking Bruce's dick back into her mouth.

 

He can see the gears turning in Bruce's head, planning out how best to approach the situation.

Bruce licks his lips. “You want me to beg?”

And yeah, Clark would  _ really _ like that. Bruce's voice, coarse and desperate, actually asking for what he wants, what he  _ needs _ . 

But he wants Bruce to beg of his own volition, wants him to start begging without realising is. 

 

“I've got a better plan for that mouth of yours.”

With one hand, he undoes his fly and pulls his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans.   

“Open wide, Bruce,” and for the first time that night, Bruce complies without comment. 

Clark feeds him the head of his cock, sighing at the sensation of wet heat engulfing him. 

“Fuck yes,” he groans, rocking into Bruce’s mouth. If Bruce didn’t have his mouth currently  _ occupied _ , he’d be commenting on the Boy Scouts language, for sure. 

“Fuck, B, your mouth is amazing. You gotta try it, Diana.” He tries not to stoke Bruce’s ego, but he can’t stop the words -the praise- from tumbling out. “Fuck.”

 

She hums and pulls off Bruce's cock, instead focusing her attention on stretching him out. “Oh, I fully intend to.” Her voice is an octave or two lower, and it's one of the sexiest things Clark's ever heard.

 

The vibrations from Bruce’s moans are driving him wild. “God, Diana,” Clark pants, ‘keep doing that.”

“What, this?” She's grinning as she curls her fingers, brushing that sweet spot over and over.

Clark sighs. “Yeah, he likes that.”

The noises Bruce’s making… Clark's so close. He doesn't want this to end. Not so soon, at least.

 

He pulls out and joins Diana between Bruce's legs. Lowering his head, he laps at the ring of muscle that Diana is currently fingering. 

Bruce moans roughly, twisting against the sheets. Clark does it again. And again. 

 

Diana giggles as Clark's tongue brushes against her fingers. 

“You two having fun down there?” He pushes back against Diana's fingers. “Care to hurry it up?” He's trying to sound aloof, but the three fingers Diana has buried in his ass are defeating his intentions. His words come out breathy, a little raspy and so very needy. 

 

“Maybe you need something to keep you from running your mouth?”

“Maybe I do,” he smirks, “what are you gonna do about it, princess?” 

Diana twists her wrist just so, making Bruce throw his head back and curse her name. 

Clark doesn't miss the way Diana's breath catches on ‘princess’, and files that information away for later. 

 

With a look and more lube, they swap positions, Clark sliding his fingers in as Diana removes hers. 

She crawls up his body, before kneeling over his head. 

 

He makes to speak, but Diana silences him, rocking her hips down against his mouth. She braces herself against the headboard, moaning as Bruce begins to taste her. 

“You weren't wrong, Kal,” she smirks, eyes blown wide, “that is one talented tongue.”

Clark removes his fingers, wiping them on the sheets, before grabbing the bottle of lube again. Anticipation coils deep inside his gut.

 

He shoves his jeans down his hips with one hand and shimmies out of the fabric. 

Bruce hadn't produced any condoms when he fetched the lube, and Clark  _ knows _ it wasn't a miscalculation. He double-checks anyway.

 

Bruce lifts Diana’s hips up a fraction so he can actually speak. “No. Get on with i-” Diana drops back down, cutting off his words. 

 

Slicking himself up, he fucks into his fist a few times before positioning himself at Bruce’s entrance. He clenches his teeth as he slides in agonisingly slow. 

 

He watches as Bruce’s abdominal muscles twitch in an effort to stay still. 

Clark starts slowly, knowing Bruce would be rolling his eyes between Diana's thighs. There's time for rough later. Right now, he wants at least a touch of gentleness to this. 

 

“This is the fun we could have been having, B,” Clark grins, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips, “all night.”

Bruce’s muffled curses make Diana moan, and Clark can tell she's so  _ so _ close. 

“You gonna come, princess?” Clark asks, and wow, his voice already sounds absolutely wrecked. 

Diana must think so, too. With a string of Greek curses, she comes all over Bruce's face. He brings a hand up to her thigh, helping to steady her.

 

She slides off Bruce's face, still shaking with sporadic aftershocks against the sheets. 

Without Diana on top of him, mufflign his noises, Bruce’s moans echo through the room. He’d expected Bruce to be vocal, but the sounds he’s marking are  _ filthy _ . 

 

With open-mouthed kisses to Bruce's jaw, chin, lips, she’s tasting herself on Bruce’s skin. 

Clark groans at the sight, speeding up his thrusts. 

 

“So good,” Bruce rasps, locking his ankles together at the small of Clark’s back. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Preening at the praise, he wraps a hand around Bruce's still slick erection. Bruce fucks into his fist, pace growing more frantic. It's not like Clark's doing any better. Bruce's body, strung out beneath him, glistens with glitter and sweat. 

 

Bruce tightens his grip on Clark with his thighs, and Clark threatens to topple over. He leans down over Bruce's body, supporting himself on one hand while the other jacks Bruce off with jagged strokes. 

 

Just like earlier, Diana and Clark focus their attention on the sensitive tendons of Bruce's neck. With every bite, every fresh mark, he positively  _ mewls _ . 

Diana nips at the flesh just below Bruce's Adam's apple, and he's gone. 

The spasms of Bruce's orgasming body are too much, Clark following suit with a groan into Bruce's shoulder. 

 

He rolls off Bruce, lost for a breath he doesn’t need. Pressed between the bodies Bruce and Diana, he feels… content. 

Diana presses a kiss to Clark's sweat-dripping forehead, before slipping from the bed. They both reach out an arm for her, but she shakes it off. She heads to the en suite, and returns with a washcloth and a soft smile. 

 

Bruce smiles lazily at them as they clean up their mess. He's too fucked-out to care, but he's thankful nonetheless. 

 

“So, when's the next PR stunt?” Clark asks. 

A pillow flies up and smacks him in the face. Diana giggles, and it sets the rest of them off. This is good, Clark's thinks, nestling his head on Diana's bicep. This is good.

_ FIN _

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always welcome!  
> Come chat with me about these three [here](http://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/)
> 
> -Nova xx


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